


it could be the best time that we ever had

by CaesarVulpes



Series: we were born to be adored [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Rated for future chapters, Some Humor, Trans Jon, Trans Male Character, more tags as they are needed, no porn yet. YET, relationship negotiation? kind of?, talking about feelings, yeah you read that right!!!, you thought it was Jontim but it was me! Jonmartim!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23209384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesarVulpes/pseuds/CaesarVulpes
Summary: ”Relax,” Tim tells him, a little tenderness left over from sleep. “You’re safe and I want you here.”Jon keeps trembling, though.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Series: we were born to be adored [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616824
Comments: 45
Kudos: 507





	it could be the best time that we ever had

Jon looks delicate like this. Fragile and vulnerable, and not even slightly monstrous. Tim can tell when he’s fully awake, because he once again tenses in Tim’s arms.

”Relax,” Tim tells him, a little tenderness left over from sleep. “You’re safe and I want you here.”

Jon keeps trembling, though. Tim lets him squirm away, out of his arms and out of bed. The sweatshirt rides up a little and Tim’s treated to a nice view of Jon’s ass. It’s still nice, actually, much smaller but shapely and still good for a squeeze. Nice to see some things haven’t changed.

”I—I don’t suppose you have a comb I could borrow.”

”Top drawer in the bathroom.”

Jon slips into the bathroom to arrange himself and Tim hauls himself out of bed. It’s not yet midnight, about half ten, but it’s still a vaguely inappropriate time for a late dinner. Tough. They both need to hydrate and Jon probably hasn’t eaten today. Neither has Tim, now that he thinks about it. Too busy. Too angry.

Usually he’d have got at least one glass of water in Jon immediately, but he’s established that he’s doing this in all the wrong order.

Speaking of the wrong order. He snatches his phone off the nightstand and taps out a message to Martin.

_ >I fucked Jon _

_ >Also I have your dick _

_ >>WHAT _

_ >u forgot it last time. Washed it for u _

_ >>Timothy Stoker you fucking know that’s not what I meant _

_ >I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinkin about how u’d feel and I’m sorry. _

_ >>did you????? _

_ >>with my?????????? _

_ >no I uh _

_ >fingered him in my bathroom _

_ >>YOU _

_ >>tim _

_ >>what happened _

Tim tries to form his response while he makes his way to the kitchen. Puts the kettle on, pokes through his fridge for something respectable to feed Jon. He runs through flippant, dismissive, and weak attempts at humor before settling on plain truth. He owes Martin that.

_ >he showed up at mine. Started apologizing again _

_ >>and things “just happened?” _

_ >I dommed the fuck out of him is what happened _

_ >and he sort of broke down after? _

_ >not because of the sex. Or a little? But not. U know. in that way _

_ >i didnt make him. We talked nd he promises he felt safe _

_ >> I know Tim. Youd never hurt someone like that _

His stomach flips. He knows he’s been scaring Martin. He didn’t expect the trust to still be there. He’s getting hit with it on all sides and he’s not sure he deserves it.

_ >I’m sorry. I know how u feel abt him _

_ >>yeah. _

_ >>is he okay? _

_ >are any of us? _

_ >he’s slept at least _

_ >>what about you? _

Tim doesn’t have an answer for that.

Jon pads into the kitchen with his hair neatly combed and braided. He’s also helped himself to a pair of Tim’s joggers. Tim supposes fair’s fair, as he’s the reason Jon’s clothes are still lying in wrinkly heaps in his sitting room and hallway. He’s got them cuffed and cinched but they still ride low on his hips and swallow his feet so that only his toes poke out. From here, Tim can see the remaining scraps of purple nail varnish. He looks almost cute, but mostly he seems frail, and skittish, and anxious. As though he’s preparing to be shouted at or even struck, which Tim supposes is also fair because he does sort of want to. But he misses Jon, and Jon misses him, and he’s so, so sick of being miserable.

It’s even started to strain his relationship with Martin, such as it is. Martin, who is worryingly ready to put up with just about anything if he thinks it will earn someone’s love. 

(Tim feels...close to that. Worryingly so. He’s not in love with Martin, but he’s sure he could be very easily. It frightens him.)

“Hey,” Tim says. Mild as he can manage.

“Hey,” Jon says back. He just stands there, tense and awkward.

Tim decides not to comment. He can’t think of anything that isn’t unkind. Instead he motions to the fridge.

“Got some leftover takeaway from the new Himalayan place down the block. Palak paneer and alu dum alright? Everything else has got meat in.”

Jon sits, hesitantly, at the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, thanks. That sounds lovely.”

“Good,” Tim says, and slides him a tall glass of water, “Drink that.”

Tim ends up heating the food on the stove, rather than the microwave, because it makes him feel like an adult. Like he’s actually cooking, and in control of his life, and his handsome boss could be sitting there smiling at him and fussing his charming little mustache and goatee back into shape, rather than tugging anxiously on two week’s worth of graying beard, perched in his chair like he’s ready to run. 

He finally opens his mouth when the water is gone and they’re both cradling cups of decaf tea. 

“Tim, I’m. I’m so--”

“Alright, we’re putting a moratorium on apologies.” It comes out harsher than it should. As harsh as he means, and as harsh as he feels, but he wanted to soften it. Jon flinches.

“Christ, I’m...I just mean. We’ve established that you’re sorry. And it doesn’t help. And if you just keep apologizing instead of actually _talking_ about it I’m going to...”

To what, hit him? Hurt him? Kick him out onto the street?

Maybe all of them. He’s been losing his temper tonight, and he hates that.

“Just. Just don’t. I know you’re sorry.”

Jon nods mutely. His eyes are still big behind his glasses—dirty, as usual—but he stays put.

“w-Where,” he says carefully, and there’s that Compulsive buzz in Tim’s throat, but Jon clenches his jaw and waits until it ebbs to continue. “Would you like to start?”

Tim doesn’t have any naan so he makes toast, and together they make their way through the entirety of the food. They talk, and talk and talk and they take turns shouting and crying, and Tim doesn’t feel better, exactly, but he doesn’t feel worse. 

“Just I can’t believe you didn’t notice we were your friends.”

Jon shrugs and wipes his eyes on his sleeve. 

“I thought you _might_ be, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I know what I’m like, people don’t usually…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize that you needed me.”

This apology doesn’t ring as hollow. It feels like Jon actually understands what he _did_ , which helps. 

“Thanks, Jon.”

Jon sniffs, allergic to sincerity as usual. “Yes, well. If I might change the subject for a moment."

Jon leans his elbows on the kitchen counter, for the first time relaxing from his stiff, defensive pose. Chews his lip for a moment.

”I want to ask you something, and I’m not sure if I’ll Compel you.”

”Fine, I suppose.”

”How long have you and Martin been together?” Jon says it like it’s a landmine, like this is the thing, out of everything he’s wheedled out of people, that he shouldn’t want to know.

It doesn’t even tickle. Tim knows he could lie if he wanted. He doesn’t even consider doing it.

“We’re not, really. Or, we sort of are, on and off for like, a year? But we’re not exclusive if that’s what you’re so wound up about. What gave it away? Or, wait.” 

Tim frowns, squints at Jon, suspicion brushing cold against his spine. 

“Did you just _Know_?”

Jon shakes his head, shoulders creeping up towards his ears. His hands draw back into the sleeves of the jumper as if to shield them, but he doesn’t quite curl up like he does when threatened.

“No, I, I didn’t, I promise.” He laughs nervously. ”Honestly it just wasn’t your comb. S’All wrong for your hair. And, and I realized it’s got Martin’s hair in it, and _then_ I realized what’s been nagging me about _this_.” 

He tugs at the neck of the sweatshirt. “It smells like _Martin_.”

”And you pay enough attention to how Martin smells to...”

Jon looks down at the counter, cheeks darkening, and Tim tapers off.

“Oh, hang _on_.”

“What?”

”You fancy him, don’t you?”

Jon goes _red_.

”Wha—don’t be—of course not! I’m his supervisor, it would be completely inappropriate!”

”You’re my supervisor, too.”

Jon goes somehow redder, shrinking into the borrowed sweatshirt like a turtle.

”It’s not the same!”

Tim finds, miraculously, that he is smiling. When was the last time he managed to smile without effort? 

“It is _so_ the same.”

Jon actually pulls the neck of the sweatshirt up over his mouth and nose, peeks up over his glasses. 

“No!” He protests, voice muffled. “I’m just—it’s creepy! I don’t want to upset him!”

Tim laughs. 

“Upset him? You _do_ know he’s got a thing for you, right?”

That gets Jon to pop up, and Tim has to laugh again.

”He’s what? No, that's--he's fucking _what?"_

Jon gets up. Starts actually _pacing_.

"No, that's not possible. He can't--that's not..."

He rubs his hands hard over the back of his neck, then shakes them out, bare feet _pat pat pat-_ ing on the floorboards. He carries on, about his _unbearable_ personality and physical plainness and a so-called lack of evidence, while Jon drags his fingers up and down his sleeves in a familiar, agitated rhythm. Tim hears _deeply unlikeable_ in there, and _ultimately unpleasant._ He’s no longer sure he thinks either is true. 

And he apparently, _astonishingly_ , thinks Jon's red-string-corkboard voice is actually _cute_ when it's not directed at him.

“And you’re... _you_ ,” he says, gesturing wildly to basically all of Tim, “And he’s bloody gorgeous, why would he even _think_ about me?”

 _Bloody gorgeous_ , huh? He’ll have to remember that. But he’s starting to work himself into a frenzy, pulling his hair and breathing too hard, too fast. Tim’s seen him scratch the backs of his hands raw when especially worked up, they all have, and he’s worried he’ll start. It’s novel, worrying about Jon again, but it still feels terrible.

Tim catches his arm on his next pass. Pulls him back against his chest and kisses the top of his head. His hair is kind of dirty, damp and a bit greasy since he hadn’t actually washed it earlier, but it still smells good. Like that orange-cinnamon tea he likes so much, and stale cigarette smoke, and what might be cardamom. He wonders if this is what Jon’s flat smells like. 

"Why are you so bent out of shape about this?"

Jon squirms a little, like an unruly cat, then settles.

”Why—why would he want me when he’s got you? Why would...”

_Why would anyone?_

”No accounting for taste, I suppose.” He means it as a joke, even manages to make it sound like one, but Jon nods like he's delivered some sage truth.

"Yes, I suppose so. He's mistaken. He must be, or you are."

Tim snorts. Ridiculous little man. 

“Or he’s a person and he knows what he wants.”

Tim sighs. 

“Come back to bed with me. It’s nearly midnight.”

Jon tenses in his arms. Just a little, but enough to notice. 

“Ah. Will you be wanting to…? You know...again?”

“D’you want to?” What he means is _not if you can’t even say it,_ but that might be cruel, he’s not sure, and he wants so badly not to be cruel right now.

“I. I will—I mean, I would, if you’d like to.”

Hardly enthusiastic consent, is it? Tim gives him a little squeeze around the middle.

“What I’d _like_ to do is go back to bed, with you. And sleep in, with you, and take the day tomorrow, also with you, and have Martin ‘round so we can _all_ just _talk_ to each other. Sound okay?”

Jon sighs, relaxed and boneless in his arms. 

“Yeah. That sounds really good.”

Tim sends a last few texts to Martin while Jon brushes his teeth with a dab of borrowed paste on his finger.

_ >listen he wants to fix things and honestly? I think I want to try too. _

_ >with all of us. _

_ > I know I haven’t been great. _

_ >>yeah. I care about you, tho. You know that? _

_ >yeah. Come to my place tomorrow? He’ll be here. _

_ >>ok _

_ > ;) _

_ >>TIM _

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Adored" by The Bravery


End file.
